


since we've no place to go (let it snow)

by midnights



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Birthday, Christmas, Christmas Dinner, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Cooking, Dogs, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Kissing, Snow, Snowball Fight, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 21:08:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5513387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnights/pseuds/midnights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>harry slips and falls in the snow on christmas eve. louis's there to pick him up. </p><p>ft. harry flaunting his cooking skills, crying at classic christmas movies, and a dog named george bailey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	since we've no place to go (let it snow)

**Author's Note:**

> well, here's my christmas fic for this year! i wanted to finish it up earlier, but i got really busy recently and was hard-pressed to find any time for writing.
> 
> title is from 'let it snow, let it snow, let it snow'
> 
> if you liked it, be sure to follow me on [tumblr](http://harryindallas.tumblr.com/) !

It’s Christmas Eve, one of Harry’s favorite nights of the whole year, and somehow everything seems to be going wrong.

The plane he was going to take back home to see his family was delayed, and now he’s stuck at his little house with all of his gifts for his family, a bad attitude, and no one to spend Christmas Eve with. On top of all that, England is in the process of being sucker punched by the blizzard of the century, and there’s no doubt that he’ll be snowed in for the entirety of Christmas Day, maybe even longer. The entire affair is very depressing, and it hasn’t got Harry in the Christmas Spirit at all.

If all had gone well, he’d have caught a plane home to Holmes Chapel yesterday, and would’ve made it home in time to help his mum finish her cooking for Christmas Eve dinner. They would’ve finished cooking, and he and his sister, Gemma, would’ve sat outside in the snow and caught up, told each other what had happened since they saw each other last. Harry would’ve told her about how he still hadn’t gotten the chance to introduce himself to the hot new neighbor, whose name he still doesn’t know, and she would’ve told him how she discovered the next best coffee place in London or something like that. Mum would give him an update on how her and Robin’s new cat, Gizmo, is doing, and Harry would tell her that no, he still isn’t dating anyone and  _ yes _ , he’s putting himself out there. 

Instead, he’s cursing up a storm as he makes his way outside, trekking through the snow in his slippers to get his phone charger from his car. He wades through the ankle-deep snow, pries his car door open (it’s stuck from the ice), and grabs his charger from the cup holder in the middle. Straightening up, he’s shutting the door just as his hot neighbor walks past his big front window and waves at him. A weird noise comes out of Harry’s mouth as he pushes the door shut, and then he feels his foot slip on the wet snow.

Suddenly he’s laying spread-eagle in the driveway, phone and charger still in hand and an ache in his back that has him seeing stars. Groaning, he picks his head up out of the snow and looks around. The hot neighbor is running across his lawn towards Harry’s driveway, looking slightly panicked. When he reaches, Harry, the hot neighbor kneels down next to him, one of his hands grabbing for Harry’s shoulder. 

“Bloody hell, mate!” He shouts. His voice is light and airy, much higher-pitched than Harry had imagined. “You alright?” 

Harry blinks a few times, letting the hot neighbor’s face come into view. And  _ yes _ , he  _ is _ hot, with those clear blue eyes and long, long eyelashes that brush against his cheekbones every time he blinks, with that feathery, soft-looking light brown hair, with those pretty collarbones that peek out from underneath his grey t-shirt, with that soft smile he flashes Harry when he still hasn’t answered his question. It’s a mischievous smile, the smile of someone who loves getting into trouble.

“Oh, uh, I think so, yeah.” Harry nods. “‘ve already got a bad back, how much worse can it get? ‘m Harry Styles, b-by the way.” 

“And I’m Louis Tomlinson.” He says, reaching out to take Harry’s hand and shake it. His hand is smaller than Harry’s, but it’s a whole lot warmer. “And you’re shivering, huh? C’mon, I’ll make you some tea.”

Harry watches as Louis stands, and then pulls himself to his feet, careful not to slip again in the snow. As he follows Louis across his lawn, he notices something. “Are you not wearing shoes?” 

Louis looks down, cheeks flushing pink. “Well, I wasn’t wearing them in the house when you fell, and I kinda panicked and just ran outside. Sorry.” He says sheepishly. 

Harry laughs brightly. “Don’t apologize, it’s funny.”

Louis smiles at him as they reach the front porch. He pulls the door open, and warm air seeps into Harry’s bones in the most wonderful way. The house smells like pine needles and apples, and Harry barely has enough time to appreciate the lovely decorations in the foyer before his attention is being whisked away by a lovely, curly, caramel-colored dog with big brown eyes. Harry falls in love with him immediately. 

Sinking to his knees, Harry scratches the dog’s neck and looks up at Louis. “I didn’t know you had a dog! He’s so quiet, I’ve never heard him bark.” 

“Yeah, he’s always been a quiet little guy, haven’t you Georgie?” Louis smiles, patting the top of the dog’s head. 

“Georgie?” Harry echoes. “That’s a cute name.”

Louis laughs then, loud and bright, and Harry turns his attention from the dog to him. “His real name’s George Bailey. I just call him Georgie cause it’s shorter.”

Harry gasps, his smile widening. “George Bailey… from  _ It’s a Wonderful Life _ ?” 

“The very same.” Louis nods. 

Harry can’t help but ask. “But… but why not call him Bailey? Bailey’s so  _ cute _ .” 

“You can call him Bailey if you want, ‘m just not sure he’ll always answer.” Louis straightens up. “How’s your back?”

Harry stands, wincing a bit when it makes his back hurt. “Kinda hurts. Still offering that tea?” 

“Of course.” Louis nods, walking towards what Harry assumes is the kitchen. He follows, and so does Bailey. “You’re always welcome to come over for tea.” He says quietly. “Haven’t had much time to introduce myself to the neighbors just yet.” 

“Surely you’ve met Mrs. Norris, though?” Harry asks, a smile breaking over his face. 

Louis laughs. “Of course, she came bargin’ in the day after I moved in, sayin’ how excited she was to finally have a new neighbor. She also said that you haven’t been around to get her apple pie recipe. Which was delicious, by the way.” 

“Was it?” Harry laughs too. “No, I haven’t seen her in a while. She’s at her son’s house until the New Year, though, I won’t be able to bake it.” He frowns. 

Mrs. Norris is the plump old lady who lives across the street from Harry. She regularly tells Harry that his hair is too long, and a few weeks ago she threatened to sneak into his house and cut it herself if he didn’t do it soon. She’s a very nosy one, Mrs. Norris. More than once, Harry has caught her snooping, peering into his windows from hers across the street. Her cat, Freddie, sometimes sneaks out of the door when she opens it, and sometimes Harry will find him lounging on his front porch, waiting to be let inside. Sometimes Harry thinks he might like Freddie more than he likes Mrs. Norris.

Bailey trots over and lays his head on Harry’s lap, and Harry scratches between his ears. “I’ll just make my own recipe.” Dropping his voice to a whisper, he says, “It’s much better than hers, anyway.” 

Louis laughs some more, reaching up to grab something from his cabinets. “I bet it is. Do you cook?”

“I am an excellent cook, if I do say so m’self.” Harry says brightly.

Raising an eyebrow, Louis pulls a box of tea from the cabinet. “Does that mean you can help me make a Christmas Eve dinner? I’ve no idea how to make a turkey, and I’ve got one that Mr. Saunders down the street gave me.”

“Louis,” Harry nods, grinning. “I’d be delighted to.” 

So he gets to work on the turkey, which is (thankfully!) already thawed out. While he makes the brine to soak the turkey in, Louis puts on Christmas music, and they talk and sing along while he works. Outside, the snow has continued to steadily fall, and he watches as his driveway disappears, knowing perfectly well that he’ll have to dig it out again when the snow finally stops. But, according to Louis, it’s not supposed to stop until tomorrow night, in the wee hours of the morning. Harry loves snow, always has. But a three-day blizzard? It’s a little much, even for him.

Once the turkey is sitting in the huge pot, soaking in the brine, Harry lets Louis (and Bailey) give him the tour of the house. It’s about the same size as Harry’s: a two-bedroom, two-bathroom with a big living room and large kitchen. The decorations are anything but modest, but they’re not gaudy or tacky in the slightest. Tiny strings of multicolored lights are wound around the bannister on the stairs; lengths of garland and red ribbon over the archways between rooms; a set of jingling bells on the front door and on the cabinet where Louis keeps all the liquor (“I know it looks nice, but now whoever’s in the house knows whenever I’m drinking”); there are a number of stockings hung on the fireplace, each bearing a different name and picture embroidered on it (Louis’s is a little snowman on ice skates); quite a few ceramic Father Christmases; a set of Russian nesting dolls that look like Santa Claus; and, Harry’s favorite, a great big spruce tree in one corner of the living room, all done up with a million different decorations, glittery snowflakes and round glass ornaments that are so thin that they look like perfectly round bubbles floating on the tree, a tiny ornament shaped like a tray of Christmas cookies, and the best of all, a little model of George and Mary Bailey, the main characters from _ It’s a Wonderful Life _ , holding their little daughter and smiling at each other. It makes Harry smile. The decorations are humble and beautiful, and Harry loves them.

“So, Louis.” Harry says as he takes the turkey out of the brine. “Where are you from?” 

“Doncaster, in Yorkshire.” Louis says.

Harry nods, grinning. “Ah, that’s why you’ve got so much Yorkshire Tea. Didn’t know anybody actually drank that stuff.”

Louis’s mouth falls open in indignancy. “Yorkshire Tea is very good,  _ arsehole _ .” 

“Oh, sure.” Harry laughs. “Really though, tell me about yourself.”

“Right, okay.” Louis puts his feet on the chair across the table from him. “I have five sisters and a brother, four of which me and Mum raised for most of their lives, and then my stepdad Dan came along, and Mum had the twins, who are five now, I think. I went to Oxford for English Literature and teaching, and I spent one year backpacking all over the continent. My favorite place was Mykonos, in Greece. Um… I’m twenty seven, my middle name is William… I can’t think of anything else.”

Harry sighs wistfully as he turns on the oven. “Oh, I’ve  _ always _ wanted to go to Greece. How was it?” 

“It was  _ amazing _ .” Louis says. “So beautiful. Like something out of a painting.” 

“I’m very jealous.” Harry grumbles. 

“It’s your turn to tell your life story, Harry.” Louis reminds him. 

Harry nods, remembering. “Right, okay. Well, I was born and raised in Holmes Chapel, in Cheshire. I have one older sister named Gemma. I went to Oxford for English Lit as well, and I’m working as a very low-ranked editor at a publishing company. I moved to London with a mate when I was eighteen, and I moved here two years ago, when I was twenty. So now I’m twenty four. Uh… I didn’t spend a year backpacking across Europe, but I did spend a year trying to convince my mum to let me try out for XFactor. She didn’t let me.” He says, laughing at the last part. 

Louis frowns in sympathy. “And I’m sure you would’ve gone quite far.” 

“Hey! I’m a pretty good singer!” Harry pouts. 

“I’m kidding!” Louis says, laughing. “I heard you singing earlier, you really are quite good.” 

Harry can feel his cheeks heat up. “You really think so?”

“Mhm.” Louis nods, then notices the open oven. “D’you need help getting the turkey in there?” 

Harry looks back at the bird. “Actually, yeah. Have you got oven mitts?” 

Nodding, Louis stands up. He walks over to a drawer by the fridge, pulls out a pair of oven mitts, and tosses one to Harry. “How do we do this with one hand each?” 

“Well, don’t you have one of those little square things? That you can hold if it’s extra hot?” Harry asks. 

“I have… dish flannels?” Louis says slowly, looking back at the drawer.

“Whatever, this is fine. Tray isn’t hot yet, anyway.” Harry says, grabbing one side of the tray with both hands. 

Louis does the same, and on Harry’s count, they lift the turkey from the counter and shove it into the oven. Harry watches Louis as he stands up, tossing his oven mitt on the table. “Let’s go find a movie to watch, all the good stuff’s on today and tomorrow.” 

Harry nods, and follows Louis into the living room. They settle down on the large sectional, with Harry at one end and Louis at the other. Louis tosses him a fuzzy red blanket, which Harry spreads over his legs eagerly, and waits for Louis to turn on the TV. When he does, they surf through the channels, eventually settling on  _ Charlie Brown _ . It’s been years since Harry’s seen  _ Charlie Brown _ on the telly, and watching it again after such a long time is lovely. He laughs at all the silly parts, and when he starts cracking up at Snoopy, Louis tells him he has a nice laugh.

When  _ Charlie Brown _ ends, they watch some of  _ How the Grinch Stole Christmas _ , but their viewing is cut short when they have to take the turkey out. Throwing his blanket off, Harry rushes into the kitchen, turns off the heat, and pulls open the oven. He gives a sigh of relief. The turkey is a perfect golden-brown, and the smell has his mouth watering. 

“Smells great.” Louis says brightly. “‘re we making anything else?” 

Harry puts his hands on his hips. “Well, what else have you got?” 

Louis heads over to the fridge and pulls it open, peering inside. “Some green beans, a few carrots, and two potatoes. And some other stuff, but nothing else appropriate for Christmas Eve dinner.” 

“Cranberry sauce?” Harry asks. He runs a hand through his hair, wishing he had a beanie or something. Snow always makes it look funky. 

“Cranberry sauce? Don’t think I have it.” Louis heads over to the cabinets under the sink and looks inside. “Do we… need cranberry sauce?” 

Harry frowns. “Of course we need it! Let’s go get some. We can walk to the Tesco’s, I’ve already been once to pick up some cheap wine, so I know it’s open today. Let’s go!” 

Louis’s jaw drops, and he looks from Harry to the window. Harry looks too. It’s still snowing, collecting on every surface. “I am  _ not _ going out there.” 

Harry puts a hand to his forehead, moaning dramatically. “Oh, Christmas is  _ ruined _ ! We can’t have dinner like  _ this _ ! How can we eat Christmas Eve dinner if there’s no cranberry sauce? Oh, I might as well just go dump myself back in bed and mope  _ allllll night _ !” 

“Oh?” Louis raises his eyebrows and smirks, crossing his arms over his chest. “Christmas is ruined?” 

“Completely ruined.” Harry nods, trying to keep the smile off his face. “Absolutely soiled.”

“But cranberry sauce isn’t even  _ good _ .” Louis complains. 

Harry cocks his head. “Do you  _ want _ ,” He raises his eyebrows. “Christmas to be ruined, Louis?” 

“Well,” Louis’s smirk turns into a grin. “I guess we’ve got to get some, then. Can’t have Christmas be ruined, can we?” 

“We’re going?” Harry asks, grinning. 

Louis nods. “Go change into snow stuff, and then we can walk there.”

So Harry does, scrambling to find his shoes and pull them on, and then he wades through the snow back to his house. He finds his snow pants and ski jacket, and then pulls on his bulky boots. His hat is waiting for him on the table by the door, and he pulls it on before heading out into the cold outdoors again. He finds Louis waiting for him in his driveway, crafting a snowball. Before he can process what’s about to happen, Louis nails him right in the stomach with the snowball. 

“You don’t wanna do this.” Harry says menacingly, narrowing his eyes at Louis. 

Louis just keeps on laughing. “Oh?” 

The walk takes almost fifteen minutes, but eventually they reach the Tesco’s. Harry finds the cranberry sauce right away, and he and Louis split the price and buy it. When their little adventure is finished, they each head back to their respective houses, where Harry sheds his snow clothes and grabs the bottle of wine he’d been planning to have while he watched  _ It’s a Wonderful Life _ , before he slipped and fell and mucked everything up in the best of ways. 

Since they’re having dinner and he’s wearing a sweatshirt and joggers, Harry makes his way to his bedroom and changes. After a few outfit changes, he ends up in a blue sweater and a pair of black jeans, along with brown boots.  He spends a moment (more than a moment) in front of the mirror, messing with his hair to try to make it more presentable. He decides not to think about why this feels like he’s getting ready for a date, and not Christmas Eve dinner. 

He makes his way back over to Louis’s, bottle of wine in hand. The door opens as soon as he rings the bell, and Harry’s greeted by an excited George Bailey, who is now wearing a dark green collar with gold jingle bells on it. Louis comes down the stairs, now wearing a red sweater and a pair of skinnies. The sweater shows off collarbones that Harry finds a hard time taking his eyes off of. But when he looks up at Louis’s flushed face, he sees that he too has fixed his hair. 

“Hi! I brought wine.” Harry says brightly, holding up the bottle as proof. 

“If I knew you’d cook me dinner and bring me wine, I’d have made you fall in the snow a long time ago.” Louis grins. “C’mon into the kitchen, I got everything ready.” He makes his way towards the kitchen, and Harry follows. “And get your shoes off, get comfy.” 

So Harry toes his boots off, smiling when he sees Louis’s socks, red and green and decorated with little reindeer. “Food smells amazing.” 

“Yeah, had a great cook.” Louis says happily, leading Harry into the kitchen. “What kind of wine did you bring?” 

“Just a Merlot.” Harry says, grinning as he sees the spread Louis’s put out. 

There are two crystal clear wine glasses at either side of the table, sat beside gleaming plates, each already set up with mashed potatoes and green beans. There’s a bottle of white wine between the glasses, a much higher-quality one than what Harry’s brought. And right in the center of the table, on a big plate with a pattern of little Christmas Trees on it, is the turkey, right next to a sparkling bowl of cranberry sauce. 

Louis tosses Harry a corkscrew and tells him to get to work on opening it, which he does. Once the bottle’s open, Harry pours each of them a glass, handing one to Louis as they sit down. “It’s very cheap wine. Probably not any good.” He warns Louis. 

“It’s the thought that counts, isn’t it?” Louis says with a sugar-coated smile.

Harry laughs. “The only thought I had while buying it was how much of it I was gonna drink alone while watching It’s a Wonderful Life.” 

“Oh?” Louis raises his eyebrows. “And here we are, getting ready to share Christmas dinner together. Nice how that works out, isn’t it?” 

“Well, ‘m sure Mum would rather have me be with the family, but I  _ guess _ you’re alright.” Harry groans, holding back a smile. 

“Oh, I get it, Styles.” Louis nods, laughing. “I cooked this whole dinner for you and you’re ready to leave me at the drop of a hat for  _ Mummy _ .” 

Harry’s jaw drops. “ _ You _ cooked all this? I think  _ I _ cooked it all, actually.”

Louis ignores the question, choosing instead to start cutting the turkey. “I Googled how to do this so I’d look cool in front of you, just so you know. And that isn’t even the wine talking, haven’t even had any yet.”

Harry laughs at that. “I could tell that you didn’t know what you were doing the second you picked that knife up.” 

“Is it that obvious?” Louis asks, sitting back down. 

Harry takes the knife from him and gets to work. “Tell me about your Mummy, hm?” 

“Well,” Louis pauses. “She’s always been the strongest person I’ve ever known. Dad left when I was little, so she was the one who raised me and my sisters.”

“Mhm.” Harry nods. “Does she look like you?” 

“Nah. Dunno who I look like, actually. My mum’s always said I don’t look much like my dad, which has always satisfied me in an odd way. Kinda hard not to resent someone who ran off, y’know?” Louis gets quiet. “Anyway, I’ve overshared, so it’s your turn.” 

Harry smiles at that, looking up to find Louis hiding his face in his wine glass, cheeks flushed in embarrassment. It makes him smile more. He puts a few pieces of turkey on Louis’s plate, and then his own, and then starts eating. “Well, my parents ‘ve been divorced since I was young, but I’ve always been close with my dad. My mum remarried a couple of years ago, but my step dad was always around. They both brought up me and Gemma. My sister.” 

“I remembered.” Louis nods. “Turkey’s amazing, by the way.” 

“Yeah, I heard the cook’s amazing. I also heard he’s like,  _ gorgeous _ .” Harry nods. “And he can bake!”

Louis grins. “I heard that too, yeah. And he’s even more gorgeous when he’s not just glimpsed passing by the window.” He says. “And that is totally not the wine talking.”

Harry feels his cheeks heat up. “Is that so?” 

“Oh, yes. And I like his sweater.” Louis nods. 

“Thank you, Louis.” Harry takes a sip of his wine, grinning. 

When they finish eating, Harry and Louis put everything away, and then Harry helps do the dishes. Louis washes and he dries, and in Harry’s opinion, these plates are squeaky clean, way cleaner than a dishwasher could’ve done. But maybe that’s the wine talking, too. Dishes done, they finish the last of their glasses of red and bring the white wine into the living room, where they sit in front of the fire in the light of the tree, spread out on couch cushions and with blankets on their legs. The radio in the corner is playing Christmas music, some Nat King Cole song that only sounds vaguely familiar to Harry.

Harry sits with his back against a couch, wine glass in hand. Both of them are a bit drunk, cheeks flushed and smiles constant. Louis looks at him. “‘ve never been good at this.” 

“What, drinking?” Harry raises an eyebrow. “I think you’re doing fine.” 

“No, not drinking.” Louis giggles. “I mean like,” He waves a hand around. “I mean sharing stuff. Deep stuff. Stuff about my dad.” 

“Oh.” Harry says. “Well, I think you’re doing fine.” 

Louis shrugs. “‘ve always been sort of… closed off I guess. You go. Say something deep.”

“Um…” Harry frowns, thinking. “I’ve always hated the period between Christmas and New Year’s Eve. It’s so long and  _ boring _ .” 

“That’s not deep.” Louis wrinkles his nose, and Harry could melt. “Tell me about… your favorite part of Christmas.”

“That isn’t deep either.” Harry chuckles. “It’s quite cheesy, my favorite part.”

“Of course it is.” Louis rolls his eyes. 

Harry ignores him. “My favorite part of Christmas is watching people open the gifts I’ve given them.”

There’s a pause. “ _ That… _ is your favorite part? How boring!”

“Well, what’s yours?” Harry grumbles. 

“I like decorating, even though I’m the laziest person on the face of the planet.” He says simply. “Makes home feel even more home-y.” 

“How cute.” Harry coos. “I also love Christmas Eve. It makes me feel so…  _ warm _ , I guess, I dunno.”

Louis shakes his head. “I’ve never liked Christmas Eve. Very untimely.”

Harry doesn’t get what he means, but he doesn’t press it. Instead, he looks around, wondering where that lovely dog is. “And where’s George Bailey? Bailey!” 

“He won’t answer to just  _ Bailey _ .” Louis laughs. 

“Why wouldn’t he? It’s his name, innit?” Harry raises an eyebrow. 

“I think I know my own dog, Harry.” Louis crosses his arms over his chest. “Plus, I am older than you, and therefore, wiser.” He checks the time on his phone. 

“Not that much older. Just three years.” Harry argues. 

“Only two, actually.” Louis says softly. 

Harry cocks his head. “What d’you mean?”

A small smile appears on Louis’s face. “Today’s my birthday.” 

“Is that so?” Harry asks as the song changes. 

“Mhm. And d’you know what would really make this a great birthday?” Louis asks, standing. He walks over to the radio and turns the music up, and Harry’s able to identify the song at last; it’s an old Frank Sinatra one. 

“What, Louis?” Harry raises an eyebrow, setting his glass down on the coffee table beside one of the couches. 

Louis straightens up, holding his arms out. “A nice dance.”

Harry laughs but obliges, making his way towards Louis. He nearly slips on the hardwood floor, but he recovers in time to put his hands around Louis’s waist and pull him close. A pair of hands wind around his neck and come to rest on his shoulders, and Harry looks down just as Louis rests his chin on his shoulder. If he wasn’t a little tipsy, he’d  _ never _ do something like this. They’ve just met earlier today. 

But Louis looks like an angel in the light from the Christmas tree, green and yellow and orange, glowing like he’s a work of art, and Harry’s always been one to appreciate art. His hair’s all mussed up and messy from their day of mucking around, feathered in all different directions. It looks soft, and Harry wishes he could run his hands through it. 

“So, Louis.” Harry says softly. “What’s your birthday wish, hm?” 

Louis looks up, cocking his head in thought. “Kiss me.” He says quietly. 

It takes Harry a minute to understand what Louis just said, and when he finally does, he surges forward, pressing his lips to Louis’s. He tastes like wine, the taste still lingering on his tongue. Louis’s hands tangle in Harry’s hair, and Harry takes Louis’s waist and pulls him in closer, eyes slipping shut. The music is still playing, Frank Sinatra crooning in the background as they snog. 

After a few minutes, Louis drags Harry over to the couch and sits him down, where they get back to kissing. Louis pulls Harry on top of him and grabs at his arse, and it makes Harry laugh, and then they’re both laughing, giggling into each other’s mouths like lovestruck teenagers. Louis’s got a laugh like Christmas bells, and Harry’s never heard anything as pretty in his whole life.

Harry presses a kiss to Louis’s forehead, and Louis sits up, careful not to make him fall. “Let’s see what movies are on.”

“I’m not gonna make out with you during  _ It’s a Wonderful Life _ .” Harry giggles. “It doesn’t seem right.” 

Louis raises an eyebrow as he turns the movie on. “Is that so?” Harry nods. “I guess we’ll have to watch something else, then.” 

They do end up watching it, and both of them tear up at the end, and eventually succumbing to snogging while the credits roll up the screen. Bailey seems intent on sitting at the foot of the couch while they kiss, and it takes a lot of shooing to get him to give them some privacy. After a while they drift off to sleep, still watching Charlie Brown.

Louis wakes him up a while later, kissing his face and assuring him that his bed is much more comfortable. So Harry follows him up the stairs, yawning the whole way, and then collapses on Louis’s bed. A few minutes later, when they’re all curled up under the comforter, with Louis’s head tucked under Harry’s chin and their fingers laced together, Harry remembers something. 

“You know, I don’t even like cranberry sauce.” 


End file.
